WrongSufferedAtHands

7.

Afiyah was encouraged by the fact that Mr. Farooq had been dismissed from school for his heinous crimes. At the very least, she slept with a sense of serenity.

Sameer broke the news to her, emphasizing that she should be glad and lead a peaceful life henceforth. But she was unable to do so. Not when she had a teeny weenie of a longing in her heart: to meet Hassan again.

"With the flow of time, you might forget him." they said.

But here was Afiyah, able to create a portrait of Hassan, his features as fresh in her mind as a self portrait. She could vividly recall every aspect of his winsome face: the slope of his exquisite nose, the mole on his cheek, the contours and edges of his flawless aspects; there wasn't a single day where she's wake up with tear drenched face, the reason she caught a fleeting glimpse of Hassan in her dreams. Each night, she would witness Hassan in her dreams, as if he were a distinct soul to her.

Sameer couldn't stand watching her grieve all day, attempting to conceal her tears and hiccups whenever he spotted her curled up in the corner.

"Why are we like this?" she lamented into the hollow of Sameer's neck one day as he sat next her.

"We're both retarded. We fell for the wrong people." he'd joked, the resonance of his laugh vibrating against her ear. "We are, without a doubt, a bunch of idiots. We'll get over it; at the very least, we have each other. Maybe we'll grow used to it."

He didn't seem to need Afiyah to inform him; he already knew. He observed how the scenario shifted from Afiyah caring for a tearful Sameer to Sameer caring for a distraught Afiyah. She would sleep chanting his name and wailing when she awoke from her dreams. He'd learned of her ambitions and wishes for Hassan, the youngster.

He had pleaded with his father to enable Afiyah to enroll into school so that she would no longer be alone in the home; after all, she wasn't allowed to linger near the main gate because both Sameer and their father had the key. Their father grew increasingly attentive towards her, perceiving her way of wearing a shawl or interrogating about her wants and needs to go out for fresh air. Mr. Farooq had cemented incorrect notions into their father's thinking, which produced all of the repercussions, according to Sameer.

That same year, Afiyah enrolled into a new high school, and her first perception of the classroom was the foul odor emanating from the overcrowding. When she sat among the stack of females, knee over knee and shoulder to shoulder, the scent of perspiration and unclean hair oils would waft into her nostrils. She was sent to an all-girls school, where it was difficult for her to even converse to a female without bringing attention to herself.

Teacher would lecture about getting along with the superiors: like a timepiece lacking its wheels, the rules appeared to be pointless and incongruous.

Like wax trickling from a burning candle, an entire pitiful and miserable year passed directly right in front of her eyes. She had been persuaded and was determined to continue her studies. She had envisioned acquiring a cell phone and messaging or calling Hassan. She pictured them conversing all night, telling each other how much they missed one another.

Her fantasy, however, was never fulfilled. As the year unfolded, she vowed herself to reclaim her father's long-lost trust. Her aims and ambitions for the year were to have her father's pride and regain his faith in her.

"Watch out!" She was yanked awake from her stupor. She winced as she was on the verge of tripping over her own feet.

"That damn van was about to slam into you. Where the hell is your brain?"

"At this point, the very least you can do is stop cussing; it makes my ears bleed."

Yes, she despised it when Kainat, her new buddy, spoke to her as if she was talking with someone who's standing up on the highlands. Her voice bothered her at times.